Raven
by Insomniac Owl
Summary: You have no name, no face, no past, no future.... You are a machine, glossed over with humanity. You are ANBU.


**Raven**

_By Insomniac Owl_

-

_You have no name_.

The miasma, so thick he could only make shadows of solid objects, presented him with strange visions. Faces, floating bodiless, scene he'd rather forget, the screams of those he'd already killed, and those he had yet to murder. The knowledge of what he was passing into by allowing this.

This tradition, this… initiation, was what truly counted. It was ancient, used even before the founding of the first village. The ceremony that would come later, the one the entire village would be witness to if they chose, was only for show. The official ascension, the documents, signatures, the presenting of the uniform - all that was for show.

It was here, in this tiny, dark room surrounded by veteran killers and hallucinogens, that the true induction took place. The pain of a needle at his upper arm (though it was nothing, a trifle compared to wounds he'd already suffered), the soft background murmurs, the smoke, incense, visions, and ceremonial blood… this was the true initiation. This was where warriors, tried and true ninja, became the elite. This was where the true separation of life and work became reality.

_You have no face_.

When he stepped from this room he would be one of many. All is one and one is all. He would be faceless, nameless, without a purpose but to accomplish the mission set before him. He would be a ruthless monster, though not without honor.

_You have no past_.

He tried not to cough, failed, and hacked up only smoke. It was blue, though he could barely see it in the poor lighting. And amid the smoke, the faces shifting around him that weren't his imagination were white, pure as ivory, and just as unfeeling. Masks. There - a wolf! A deer! Lion. Butterfly. Ox-frog-cat.

He did not know what he would become. He did not care. He did not want to care. Apathy demanded he not, demanded he stand still and faceless as a statue, watching the ivories murmur. The voices they took were only half familiar, and he did not concern himself with them. They had their duty - just as he did. And it was their ranks he would join; it was them he would fight beside, kill beside, die beside….

From within the smoke and incense, a voice began to chant.

_You have no future_.

The smoke began to change colors then, shifting from its original blue to purple, green, _red!_ Rusty brown, the color of old, dried blood. And white. Gray and fading….

The chanting continued.

And a shadow, figure slightly more solid though no more recognizable, emerged from the smoke, coming toward him. In its hands was a mask of ivory, the features still blurred and undecipherable. It handed him the mask, and retreated, a phantom vanishing in near plain sight.

"_You are Warrior_. _Soldier_. _Assassin_," a whisper came, and he bowed his head over the mask as he'd been instructed. He knew, somewhere, unconsciously, that the ceremony was complete. The chant had died off into darkness, the ivory faces fallen back and disappeared, and it was time for him to do the same. He turned to go the way he'd come, feeling his way with one hand stretched out before him, bumping into stone walls, an empty space, the door at last. With one easy pull he brought it open, the red light of a commencing dawn spilling into the room and finding it empty. When he had entered it had been night, midnight in fact, and now the sun was rising….

As the door closed behind him, his eyes (coal black and watering - an after-effect of the smoke) glanced down to the mask he held. It was a raven, the palms of his hands visible through the eye holes. He had to put one hand back against the wall to find support then, his legs suddenly weak and eyes unable to focus on the curve of the beak, or the blank power of the eyes. The smoke was still inside him, burning his lungs and eyes from the inside. It melted the sunrise into an oil painting and sent him stumbling to his knees.

"One of many, part of all," he mumbled. "That's what I am now, aren't I…."

A machine, glossed over with humanity….

Such a beautiful sunrise….

_You are ANBU_.

**finis**


End file.
